by Cate Glass
I didn’t ask Placidio how long his magical gift of anticipation gave him before the earth shook. Even for one with his honed reflexes, it was likely just enough to save his own life. In no way would it be long enough to haul Neri up if Dragonis raged again. Perhaps the dreadful pain in my head before the quake actually began was a touch of Placidio’s gift of anticipation. Did his linger so long as this one?
Rage … The memory of the bawling fury in my head just before the earth shook could make a person believe in the gloriously beautiful monster who had tried to rape Mother Gione so she would beget him children. According to the Canon of the Creation, that crime had set off a millennium of divine warfare that ended only when Atladu, god of sea and sky, had raised a Leviathan from the deeps of Ocean to sweep Dragonis from the sky and imprison him under the lands of the Costa Drago. Exhausted by the war, the gods had retired to the Night Eternal, abandoning their human charges.
I had never believed any of it. But then charming, mysterious Teo had raised questions and imaginings that challenged my whole concept of our god stories. What would he say of this dreadful day?
Neri’s black curls vanished below the rim. Placidio sat on the upsloping face of his shallow crater, knees bent, boots dug into packed dirt. He kept a light tension on the coiled rope that lay in front of him, slowly unwinding as Neri climbed down the rope ladder. Dread settled in my gut like a cartload of cannonballs that would not be relieved until my brother returned whole and healthy.
Certain, their plan made sense. I didn’t have to like it.
Only a few coils remained when I flattened myself on the rubble and peered down the dark hole.
“Anyone down here?” Neri’s quiet call was clear, but scarce hearable. He didn’t want to attract attention from those beyond our crater.
A pale, ivory light flared—one of the few magical skills any of us had learned beyond our inborn talent. The darkness in that hole devoured it. Surely Neri wouldn’t let anyone see its origin.
“Help’s come … told you.” The shout was muffled. So faint, that voice. So far away. “Breathe, Ista…”
A wail rose from below. Spirits, was a child down there?
“Hush,” called Neri. “We’ll get you.”
Placidio tightened his grip on the rope. The taut line jittered, once. Then again.
“A signal?” I said.
“He was to let us know when he reached the bottom of the ladder,” said Dumond, joining me beside the hole. “His rope is longer, so he wants the swordmaster to lower him. We just hope it’s not too far.”
Placidio slowly released the rope. When only a few coils remained, the taut line relaxed.
“He’s down,” said Dumond. “A gap of almost his height from the bottom of the ladder to wherever his feet are now—the shed roof, we think. Manageable, if there’s someone in shape to give folk a boost. Placidio told Neri he was not to unrope.”
Placidio took up the slack and glanced over at me. “Won’t let him get away.”
“I’m right on top of you,” Neri called. “There’s wood here. Gonna kick at this spot. Look for the light. We’ve got rope and ladder, but only a narrow way out. Doubt you want to dawdle…”
Neri’s light wavered and it sounded as if he were tearing down a wall, as I suppose he was. Or perhaps it was the desperate people below, knocking a hole in their shelter. There were no screams or fits, only a low surge of voices as wood cracked and tore.
“Whoa! Leave the leftmost rafter,” Neri shouted. “That’s where I’m standing and where you’ll need to stand. That’s it, lift her up.” A pause, and then he called upward, “One on the way!”
Dumond glanced at me. “You know what you’ll need to do once they’re up.”
“Certain…”
Throughout childhood and my years with il Padroné, I had believed my only magical talent was the ability to touch another person’s flesh and tell a story to replace a memory in that person’s head. My parents had first noticed it when my father could no longer recall the hero tales he’d told me, because I’d given him a story more to my liking while sitting in his lap. It was an awful realization, to know I had stolen a piece of another person’s life, leaving them with broken connections, confusion, and a new memory that seemed entirely real, yet was somehow wrong. Even though I had discovered that it was only a stunted offshoot of my gift for magical impersonation, there were times when it became necessary, invaluable. I was careful, and replaced the smallest bit I could—less damaging and easier to accomplish.
“… but I can’t do it to a child,” I said. “To a mind not yet grown, it’s too much of a risk. I won’t. But the others, yes.”
“I’ll not argue,” said Dumond, “but give the little ones a different story to hang on to, at the least.”
The smith turned his attention back to the rope ladder. “Be still; be still,” he murmured when the rope ladder began to sway and twist, causing its support beam to tug at the wire-and-stake anchors. “Neri’s supposed to tell them not to kick or grab at the sides of the shaft. I just don’t know what that would do.…”
Magic had opened the passage, but how long would it stay open if someone repeatedly broke the barrier between magic and the shifty earth? Would the hillside collapse?
Though it seemed an eternity, at last a small head sporting multiple dirt-colored braids appeared just below the edge of the trapdoor.
“Reach up and grab my hand.” Dumond lay prostrate on the square wood door, stretching both hands forward.
“Mustn’t let go.” The small voice held back sobs.
“C’mon. Reach. You know, I’ve got a girl your age. Seven years, are you? Eight?”
“Six, but tall fer it.”
“Good. Take one more step up and lean toward me, then let go only one hand and reach. Tall girl like you, strong girl, won’t let go till I’ve got you. Brave girl like you won’t stay there holding and block the others from safety. I’ll hold you. My girls like to adventure … to climb…”
Dumond was a gruff, pragmatic man who rarely smiled. But I’d seen him with his girls, and none of the rest of us would have had the patience to coax that child to let go of the ladder and reach for a stranger.
“That’s it,” he said. “Scooch a little more. What’s your name?”
When she let go of the rope at last and grabbed his hand, no god in any universe could have made him let go. After a moment of scrambling, she was in his arms. A small child, dirty and bedraggled. He couldn’t hold her long, though, as another child’s head came into view.
“’Bout time you got to movin’, Ista!” Another child’s voice sirened like a trumpet. “My turn to get outta this bunghole. Don’t wanna crawl into yours!”
Dumond shoved the little one to me and stretched out for the new arrival. “One more step on the ladder, girl, then let go one hand, lean this way, and reach for me. Your legs’ll know what to do … and a bit of kindness wouldn’t be amiss.”
“Shh,” I said, patting the first child’s shaking back. Great silent sobs racked her. “But it’s good to be quiet, so we can hear the others. How many, child? How many are down there?”
She jerked her shoulders.
“Is your da one of them?”
Her grimy braids bobbed, and I felt a moan that seemed likely to break into a screech.
Though I crushed her to my breast, she bent no more than a stick. “We’ll try our best to get everyone up, but we must be quiet and still. So good to have a tunnel to crawl through, yes?”
I had to give them a plausible story. A hole from the top of the avalanche was not possible without magic.
“Masks,” said Placidio, still in position, gripping Neri’s lifeline. “Older ones’ll remember.”
I tied on the scarf mask. The second girl—a year or two older than the first—knew exactly what to do. As she scrambled out of the hole, she broke into a grin.
“Dandy!” she said and poked the littler one. “See, Ista. Told you some’d come. No demons do
wn there to keep ’em off.” She turned her face up to us. “I’m Tacci, bricklayer’s daughter.”
“How many?” I said. “How many down there?”
“Sixteen? Twenty-ought? Summat like. I get lost past a dozen. Some’re hurt bad. Two’s dead for sure.”
“Can you hold Ista?” I said. “We need you to stay still. Don’t want dirt or rocks blocking the crawl. Clever to have a ladder to pull yourself along the way, right?”
Cheerful Tacci lost her smile. “Clever, aye. Why do you folk have masks on?”
“The dust,” I said. “Makes us sick, breathing it for these hours. We need to get more out, then we’ll take you down and you can go home. You’re safe.”
A longer lag between. No question why, once the young man collapsed atop Dumond. Dazed and bleeding. Half his face a ruin. He couldn’t even crawl. As I helped him away from the hole, his right arm had a death grip on his left. A shard of bone protruded between his dirty fingers. It was all he could do not to scream. How he had climbed that rope ladder was a mystery.
“I should have brought bandages,” I said, supporting him so he could sit.
“Please get … the rest. Germond made ’em let … me follow … the littles.” The injured young man, sitting curled over his shattered arm, mumbled. “So slow. I just—”
“Of course you were slow,” I said. “Would that be Germond the ironmonger?”
“Aye. Got us … under. Shed.” His every inbreath stuttered with agony. “Saved us. Lifted me … to the ladder.”
“And Basilio, too?” Germond and Basilio lived on the Beggars Ring Road, around the corner from Neri and me. Both were quiet men and generous to the neighbors with their tools and skills.
“Nay,” said the injured man. “Basilio keeps the business, while Germond works here.”
Another man was up the ladder. Dumond offered his hand to a grizzled fellow with upper arms like clubs, but the man crawled out on his own—over the dirt, not the trapdoor.
“Mind the edge, goodman,” said Placidio. “Don’t want to drop dirt on your friends.”
The fellow bent over and propped his hands on his knees. “Blessed Gione’s sweet tits. I thank—” His face twisted into a frown, when he looked up at the three of us.
“Mask helps keep out the dirt,” said Placidio.
“Guess it would,” the fellow said. “How the devil did you dig this hole?”
“Tunneled fast as we could,” I said. “Maybe you could help this man, goodman, and we can get these children on their way.”
“Ah, Fidelio, poor lad,” he said, yanking a scarf from around his neck and offering to bind the younger man’s arm. “Curse the monster and the demons who feed it!”
The demons bent on freeing Dragonis were, of course, sorcerers. Like the four of us.
“You two should start down,” I said, urging the two children to their feet. “The rubble is loose and shifty, so careful steps. I’m warning you, no dawdling or playing until you’re down.”
As the grizzled man bound Fidelio’s arm, I devised the story we needed them to believe. I considered what they had experienced and seen—bravery, fear, pain, and the breathless dark. I envisioned the sizes and shapes of their rescuers. Then, laying my hand on Fidelio’s shoulder and the other man’s, I summoned my will to the power inside me and whispered a story: “A clever, big-shouldered man with pale hair dug out a tunnel that came right to the shed roof. He and a robust, foul-mouthed woman companion stretched a rope ladder along the way, and we had to crawl…”
Whatever confusion my magic left behind would be blamed on fear. No one could be buried alive for two hours and not have the mind playing tricks.
I sent the grizzled man after the children. “Could you watch them? There’s holes and snags. We’ll carry Fidelio later.”
He scratched his head “Least I could do. Who’d a thought we could crawl out like that?”
Five … six … seven … One after another, we brought them out, and I replaced the impossible truth of their escape with the lie. Two of the laborers insisted on carrying Fidelio down.
A few people ventured up the rubble heap to see where the straggling parade was coming from. Dumond would toss his pack over the hole, and Placidio would use his shovel to throw dirt into the air. I babbled hysterically and shoved a newly rescued person into their arms, saying, “This one wandered up here instead of down. They say there’s a side tunnel. There seems none to be rescued in the rubble up here, but we’ll keep trying.”
Eighteen … nineteen were out. A long wait for the next, a woman with only one leg that could bear weight. Her powerful shoulders had gotten her up the ladder. She lay on her back gazing up at the sky, gulping in great gouts of air. Her whole body quivered, her face bloodless and rigid with pain.
Placidio craned his neck to peer down at the coliseum floor and up at the broken hillside above us. Then he gave three sharp yanks on Neri’s rope. “Get them up now!” he snapped. “Can’t wait longer.”
I scrambled over to the hole, horrified to see a steady rain of dirt clots and pebbles falling down the chute. The earth beneath me shivered. Darts of fire pierced my skull.
Neri was arguing with someone. I couldn’t hear all the words, just “Go!”
“Up now!” I yelled down the hole.
Neri called up, “He won’t come! We’ve got to get them—”
Another shiver. Shouts and cries rose from rest of the coliseum crowd. My muscles felt like sand packed beneath my skin, shifting, grating …
Placidio held the rope taut and growled through his teeth, “Stop dawdling, boy. Let them choose for themselves.”
“Haul him up,” I said to Placidio. “Whether he will or no.”
Instead, Placidio’s rope fell slack. Spirits, Neri!
For a moment the rope writhed like a snake, and then drew taut again.
“Now, now, now!” Neri’s voice was faint. “Haul it!”
Placidio’s thick shoulders were already straining, drawing steadily on the rope.
The earth shuddered. Enough to set rocks rolling down the rubble mound. Enough that the shouts from the crowd below became cacophony.
“Help this lady down,” said Dumond to me, ever calm and steady. “We’ll see the lad safe. I’ve got to close the way after him.”
The trapdoor was resonant with magic and would be for a time even after Dumond shut it down. That magic could be used to trace Dumond through the city. Maybe the rest of us, too, since we’d had a hand in it.
Though I fiercely hated leaving before seeing Neri out safely, the woman had already got herself up to sitting. She must not see Dumond reverse his magic.
“Come,” I said, shoving my arm under her shoulders. “That was just a twitch. A caution. What’s your name?”
“Gavina,” she said, getting her good leg under her.
We hobbled, stumbled, fell a few times. Whenever the rubble slid out from under us, my heart stuttered. I kept watch over my shoulder, willing Neri, Dumond, and Placidio to appear. Near ground level at last, I said, “Hold one moment. Let me catch my breath.”
Supporting her weight, I touched her bare wrist, drew on my magic, and whispered the replacement memory.
“What did you say, girl?”
“You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met, Gavina,” I said.
She shook her head as if to clear it. “No. Weak. I let the ironmonger lift me to the ladder, ’stead of going himself. He wouldn’t leave me nor Viano, whose back was broke, nor the two others hurt.”
Spirits! “Over here,” I shouted, beckoning anyone. “Help over here.”
When two women took Gavina in hand, I started back up the hill.
“Wait, damizella!” called a commanding male voice from behind me. “Who are you? What’s happening up there?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Night Eternal, the demanding questions came from Rinaldo di Bastianni, Sandro’s cold, serious friend who had despised il Padroné’s mistress. Bastianni, a director of the Phi
losophic Academie, knew my face, and a Confraternity sniffer was just behind him.
“Come back here immediately, young woman!”
I sped upward.
At the top, Neri scrambled away as Placidio wrestled a large, very angry man, covered in blood and tangled in rope, out of the hole. Germond the ironmonger, face to the ground, was fighting to go back down.
Dumond slammed the trapdoor shut.
“Quickly!” Placidio snapped at me.
As the earth shuddered and terrified screams split the air, I touched the back of the writhing Germond’s neck, and gave him the story I’d planted in the rest of the survivors. He must not remember it was his neighbors forced him out.
“Sigillaré!” Dumond pressed his hands to the trapdoor. Before he could grab the painted square or the rope ladder, thunderous rumbling set the sides of the crater sliding. Dust rose in a great cloud from the hillside above us. A crack, as of the world’s ending, and a booming crash sent us racing and stumbling down the hill.
Placidio shoved the furious Germond into the fleeing crowd and vanished into the mob. Germond staggered.
“Split up,” spat Dumond, grabbing Neri before he could go to Germond’s aid. “No more to do here.”
Yanking off the scarf mask, I let the mob flooding toward the ramps carry me. I was no more than halfway when the frantic ironmonger spotted me.
“Scribe Romy! Did you see those people up the hill?”
“Germond!” I said, forcing myself to face him. He was drenched in blood. Panicked citizens jostled and swirled around us. “Gracious spirits, are you injured?”
“I was buried … with others. But some … people … dragged me out. They had no cause—”
His brow was creased with pain, his eyes clouded in confusion. Grabbing his arm, I urged him toward the ramp. The earth shuddered and rolled. Screams rattled the pounding in my head.
He balked and twisted around, peering behind us. “’Twasn’t righteous. To abandon folk to die alone. Aagh—” He slammed his scarred palms to his head and bent over, as if his skull were cracking. “What’s wrong with me?”